


November Seas Brought You To Me

by Oberon_and_Puck



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (maybe a little bit at least as the water horses can be gross), Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Horses, I have no idea where this is going, M/M, Racing, Scorpio Races AU, Slow Burn, Thisby Island (The Scorpio Races)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oberon_and_Puck/pseuds/Oberon_and_Puck
Summary: The annual Scorpio Races are looming ahead.Adam is already busy with his other jobs, but his new job as a reporter for the local newspaper sees him spending time on the cliffs overlooking the beach where the water horses are trained. These deadly but beautiful horses fascinate and terrify Adam. There is no way he could predict what would happen this races.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no plan for this so there may never be more than one chapter of this but we shall see! I've tried to explain lots of the Scorpio Races lore so it hopefully makes sense if you have never read it!

Adam sat on a large rock atop the cliffs, surveying the beach bellow.

It was the first day of training down on the beach. Only 30 more days until the Scorpio Races would begin. Every year on the first day of November, the entire Island of Thisby (and hoards of visitors from the mainland) watched the races. The races were deadly but beautiful. Deadly because of the flesh eating water horses, the _capaill uisce_ (cap-ple ush-ca), were raced instead of normal horses. Beautiful because of those very same _capaill_. It was a tradition so old that its origins had been eaten by time. The races and the _capaill_ _uisce_ were as much a part of Thisby as the ancient stone church, their original religion long forgotten but the traditions remained.

He couldn’t see any other people spectating yet, but the sun had only risen an hour ago. The path was only dirt, but had been etched into the cliff top by centuries of people eager to watch the beach bellow. He could taste the salt of the nearby ocean. The riders already down on the beach, mostly those who had raced previously and knew how to beat the rush on the first day, were lucky. The wind was only a breeze today, letting the water roll in small waves rather than covering Adam’s face in sea spray. The rock that he sat on had been worn into a kind of seat by many generations of people using it to spectate on the _capaill_ bellow. Even though it was solid bellow him, it was comfortable enough to spend a few hours on – better than his legs aching from standing still for too long.

A grey _capaill_ , who had been in the races for longer than Adam could remember, slowly walked in circles close to Adam’s vantage point. He was almost sent into a trance as he watched the circles get larger and larger, slowly getting closer to the sea with each turn. Adam thought it was a pointless exercise, the horses were always tempted by the sea, but he let himself watch the water horse begin to trot anyway.

October air bit his neck and face, icy cold this early in the morning. Stubbly grass tickled his ankles where his trousers were slightly too short for his long legs. He knew he had grown out of them 3 years ago but he couldn’t afford to turn them to rags yet – they were still fine for work and could still be patched at the knee. A grey beanie sat on his head, holding his ragged brown hair out of his eyes. He tugged his coat closer around his skinny frame as he shivered slightly; he wore the green-grey wool almost every day and it was getting too thin to be useful in winter and too worn to patch up much more. The cliff top at this time of morning was the most peaceful moment of Adam’s day, the thud of hoof beats was soft over the hush of the ocean.

Adam, ever the constant observed rather than participant, had managed to find a job at the local paper at Thisby’s only newspaper. Like most of the other reporters, he had been assigned to write an article on how the training of the day was going. On top of the time he spent cleaning fish down at the pier and doing other people’s odd jobs, it was a lot of work but he couldn’t complain - work was scare on an island as small as Thisby. Money was scare and the mainland was a constant temptation. Its offers of bright lights and more jobs had lured Adams parents away years ago. Not that Adam minded that they were gone, his father was the kind of man who was always under a storm cloud and never wanted to see Adam alive again. But, in the lonely nights in the little room he rented from the island’s church, he sometimes imagined what it would be like to have a father who loved him.

Adam didn’t think he could ever leave Thisby. The towing cliffs, the rolling fields and tumultuous sea felt like Adam did on the inside – ancient despite only being 19, observing, and calculating, but with danger always lurking. He knew he was going to become a fixture of this island, like the Gratton’s had become in the butchers. One day there was going to be a shop on the main street of Scarmouth that had his name in large printed letters, and tourists were going to swarm it every year in October. He knew it and he had planned out exactly what steps would get him there.

Now that the sun had been up slightly longer, Adam watched a steady stream of horses and riders walk down the path from Scarmouth. They were now too close to each other to go at any kind of great speed, Adam noted down in a ragged little notebook. It was only the first day of training after all. Once the more fearful riders had been reminded of the true nature of the water horses, the way the _capaill_ tore flesh from bone like they were wolves instead of horses, the beach would become less crowded. Adam watched the _capaill_ and their riders carefully, occasionally writing down a note. One man right beneath him tied strings of tiny bells along a piebald _capaill_ ’s bridle, he could hear them jangle softly in his good ear. Adam was always captivated by these little rituals, anything riders would do to avoid becoming the _capaill uisce_ ’s next meal.

A group of older men walked in front of Adam, their accents unfamiliar and their beige trousers spotless. He smiled thinly at them, nodding his head in acknowledgement slightly. Their slim black binoculars probably cost more than his wages for the month. _One day, I will be the person selling them their binoculars before they come up to this path_ , Adam thought. He shifted in his seat, his legs aching slightly from being still for too long. 

The group of tourist men sat down on the cliff path only a few meters away from Adam, chatting about which of the new riders they though would drop out before the end of the week. Adam wrote a few notes on them, trying to place their accent so his editor could boast how far away people had heard about the races.

Both Adam and the men immediately turned when they saw a black _capaill_ being lead onto the beach.

Adam almost thought he heard the ocean pause to gasp as well.

There was something dangerous and magnetic about this water horse. All the _capaill_ looked like horses, maybe slightly taller than average and in the colours of the pebbles on the beach. This _capaill_ was entirely black. Not a midnight sky or black paint, but a complete absence of all light. Its mane appeared to fly through the air like it was made up of a flock of birds wrestling to be free in the breeze. Adam held his breath as the rider whispered in the horse’s ear. Adam couldn’t work out how the rider’s nose hadn’t been bitten off, or worse.

Sunlight seemed to reflect off the black _capaill_ differently as Adam watched the rider take it further down the beach than other riders dared. _There were less people, but the tide was closer than many dared_ , scrawled Adam in his notebook. This water horse was a dangerous void in space time and it felt like it was drawing everyone closer towards it. Even some riders had paused their training to gaze at it. From his perch on the cliff, Adam couldn’t tell if it was from admiration or fear.

* * *

Adam would have preferred to stay at the cliffs all day, but fish weren’t going to clean themselves and he needed the money.

As he walked around the old pier-master’s building, boats were beginning to pull into the harbor.

“Morning Blue, is it a big catch today?” he said as he sat down on a wobbly wooden stool in front of a large stainless steel bench.

Blue, the daughter of one of Thisby’s psychics, already sat on the other side of the table. Her nose was wrinkled already. The pier permanently stunk like fish even when the boats were still out at sea.

“Yes, but its all small stuff today. I am not impressed or in the mood,” she said. She adjusted her overalls, made of more patches than overall. Blue was small package of practicality. She made up for her short size with her drive and determination. None of the boys who worked at the pub with her were as fast at cleaning fish, and at everything else, so she was always sent down when there was a particular large catch.

Adam sighed before setting out his tools on the bench.

“Did you see the black _capaill_ being lead down to the beach?” Adam asked as he helped Blue haul the first crate of fish up to the bench.

“Was it that one Tommy had last year or did he end up loosing it after all?”

“A different one, this one didn’t have any white socks,” Adam said, starting to pull a silver loop across the skin of the fish in front of him. Silvery scales floated off the fish all over his arms and his shoes. He knew they would be impossible to pick off his clothes later, but it wasn’t as bad as the smell.

“It must have been caught this year then, I haven’t seen it,” Blue said.

They worked mostly in comfortable silence, their routine well practiced. They let each other’s thoughts wander as they worked.

Only the path down the the beach was visible from the pier, and as much as Adam wanted to watch out for the black _capaill_ , he was always acutely aware of how little time he had for so much work. It was only for a moment, but he managed to catch a glimpse of the black _capaill_ again, red ribbon tied to its bridle.

And leading the black horse was Ronan Lynch.

The Ronan Lynch who won every Scorpio Races he entered.

The Ronan Lynch who hadn’t raced since his father’s tragic death.

Adam knew what the headline of the paper was going to be tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I never thought I would ever actually write another chapter but here we are!

The home of Thisby’s psychics sat just on the edge of Scarmouth. Adam sat with Blue on the front porch, the two of them watching cows slowly wander in a field across the road as they relaxed after work. Blue sprawled out on the worn wood deck, carefully devouring a small pot of her favourite yogurt. Adam sat on a wobbly chair he had managed to save from the pub’s firewood pile, rocking back and forwards absent mindedly.

The large sign nailed to the brightly painted fence creaked slightly in the breeze as they sat. It had ‘300 Fox Lane, Psychics – by appointment only’ painted in wonky letters that Adam offered to repaint every time he was over, but he was always told to wait a few more months. The tall beams holding the porch up had been long weathered silvery smooth by the unrelenting Thisby wind and the iron sheets that kept the rain off the porch were spotted with rust.

No one was sure why the place the psychics called home was 300 Fox Lane; there were only 10 other houses that lead from number 300 to the next street over. Fox Lane was one of those streets at the very edge of the town that no one was ever really sure if it counted as part of the town or part of the rest of the island. 300 Fox Lane had initially been a small island cottage, the kind with homely white washed walls that were scattered all over Thisby. This quaint and homely cottage still existed as the kitchen and reading room. Over the years, people had added a room for extra children here and an extra floor there until it was the sprawling castle it was today. It was more home that Adam’s little church room would ever be.

They both stunk of fish but Adam didn’t care. After a few hours at the pier, Adam felt like all other smells had been replaced with fish until the next day, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin. It was a comfortable routine, spending the last few minutes of sunlight together at Fox Lane, a few minutes of peace before Adam and Blue had to deal with the real world again.

“Do you think he will actually race that horse or if his brother will make him stop before the Scorpio Festival?” Blue said. She placed her empty yogurt pot beside her and laid down.

“What would I know, I think the last time I actually spoke to him was the one time I was in his class at school?”

“Because you’re the hotshot reporter and I need gossip that is not from crusty old men or mom.” Blue laid down on the deck and sighed dramatically.

“I’m only a part time writer, I only get 2 articles a week, no where near as much as we make at the docks.” Adam said solemnly. The extra money on top of his normal pay was nice but the truth was, writing full time would be much more pleasant than scaling fish. Adam was sure it was a charitable gesture from the editor for fixing the roof of the newspaper’s office. As much as Adam hated accepting charity, he could reason with himself that he was being paid the same rate as all the other lower writers and feel a little less of a hindrance.

Adam closed his eyes and let his aching body relax.

“I hope one day you get more work there so you can stop at the docks, I’m tired of us smelling like fish and I’m tired of mom not letting me consider travelling to the mainland.” said Blue quietly, more seriously. She was a practical person; she knew exactly how far her money would stretch. And that was not to a trip to some far off part of the mainland. “I want to explore the world, I want to see those tropical beaches like the tourists are always speaking about and I want to see the oldest tree in the world.”

This was a Blue Adam rarely saw. This was the Blue who kept a scrapbook under her bed full of all the places she thought looked interesting. The Blue who’s dreams sometimes got so big that she had to share them with Adam just so she brought herself back to how unrealistic they were. It was times like this that Adam felt like it was only fair that he showed the dreaming side of himself. The side who could picture what the sign in front of his shop would be and how many tourists buzzed out the front during October. The Adam who could travel freely back and forth to the mainland as he pleased.

“I hope one day you get to.” He replied, opening his eyes and giving Blue a small, wistful smile.

They sat in silence for a while, allowing themselves the rare pleasure of wandering in their dreams. Adam always felt guilty when he let his dreams become fantasy rather than work on the plan that would let him achieve them, but he felt less alone when he thought about it around Blue. They were in the same boat, working just as hard and dreams just as large.

With the sun dipping lower in the clouds, the wind began to pick up. Both Adam and Blue shivered slightly, the muddy red island grass shivering with them. _Once we watch the sunset, I’ll go home,_ Adam thought. It was getting rarer for him to spend this much time with Blue, and he wanted to savor every second of it. Blue quickly ran inside 300 Fox Lane to bring herself a blanket, crocheted from a rainbow of scrap yarn that she had finished making the previous year. Adam moved onto the porch and curled up underneath the blanket with her. The further the sun dipped in the sky and the more the clouds set on fire, the colder and more unforgiving Thisby became.

Adam spotted someone walking down Fox Lane. He frowned, and stared. It was unusual for anyone to come this far down the lane unless they had business with either the psychics or the cows. It was a man wearing fine cream sweater, creaseless slacks and a large, spotless leather satchel – a mainlander for sure. Adam nudged Blue with his elbow until she spotted the man as well. The man had boyish hair but the thoughtful expression well beyond his years, one that Adam thought was probably sorting through how ‘romantic’ he found Scarmouth.

When the man spotted Adam and Blue, his face immediately rearranged its self into a charming smile. It was the kind of public face that looked genuine, the kind that Adam and Blue would never have worked out was a mask if they hadn’t spotted the man before he had spotted them.

“Are you the psychic?” the man called out to Adam and Blue. He rested his arm on the sign, like he was unsure if he would be trespassing if he took a step further.

“We’re not but they are inside. Do you have an appointment?” Blue said, in a voice that Adam recognized as the same she used to sell beer to mainlanders at the pub.

“Yes, the name is Gansey, I think it was at six thirty?” said the man politely, flashing a charming grin.

Blue motioned for him to follow her, leading him inside to the reading room. Still sitting on the deck, Adam heard polite murmurs. Then Blue’s raised voice, the kind Adam knew told men at the pub to ‘please leave your vomiting to outside our premises’ or to ‘stop spilling drinks on other patrons’. Adam winced. He hated how some men thought Blue was just a piece of paper who could be bossed around. He had no pity for them, but he did sometimes try and find the money for an extra cup of yogurt for Blue on weeks where her work had been particularly harsh.

Blue burst out the front door, her cheeks slightly flushed.  
  
“Men, honestly! “Pay for you to show me around the island”, what does he think I am? Does this fish stink not indicate that I am perfectly busy?” she said, kicking a tiny pebble off the deck.

Her face was scrunched up, trying to hide how angry she truly was. Adam shook his head and help up the blanket for her to join him again. How he hated people who thought that everyone else was inferior, who thought everyone else was to boss over like little toy soliders.

“Do they not teach manners on the mainland? Did he not see the pamphlet offering tours in the pub?” Blue said, sitting back down next to Adam. She fiddled with the mismatched squares of the blanket, picking out grass seeds and stray threads.

“How long before he realises that your mother never shares race predictions?” Adam asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m sure he will be out of there the moment he realises” Blue said, smiling slightly. Softly, they laughed together.

Once the sun was barely visible over the horizon, Maura emerged from the front door with Gansey by her side. Gansey was placing an overstuffed notebook back in his spotless bag as he listening to Maura. Blue scowled silently and watched the cows.

“If you think of anyone else I can talk to, you can find me at The Barns – you know, where the Lynches live. Thank you so much for your assistance.” he said warmly to Maura before waving and making his way back down Fox Lane. Adam almost laughed out loud as he watched Gansey flinch when he looked back towards 300 Fox Lane to see Blue scowling at him.

Maura’s thin smile evaporated the moment Gansey rounded the corner, her eyebrows drawing down. She shook her head slightly in what Adam though was either disbelief or disappointment. Both Maura and Blue were not impressed, that was never good. Both Sargents were a force to be reckoned with, and Adam pitied Gansey for a brief moment.

“Blue, I don’t know how, but somehow you are involved in that boy’s ‘quest’. It might be wise to keep away from him.” said Maura.

She shook her head slightly before heading back inside the house. Adam could hear Carla, one of the other psychics, roar “I don’t know why you even agreed to that appointment, Maura!”

Blue burst out laughing, lying down on the deck as she did. Adam smiled and wrapped the blanket further around himself. What a strange evening this had turned into. Adam knew he would be working through the events of this tomorrow morning as he rebuilt his neighbour’s fence. There were parts of them that didn’t sit right with Adam, that struck him as unusual and not quite right, but he couldn’t work out exactly what they were.

“Why would I do anything with that asshole?” Blue said

_What an odd person Gansey was_ , Adam thought. To first, come through and be so incredibly rude to Blue but for Maura to still warn Blue not see see Gansey.

“What a strange place to stay, the Barns. I thought the Lynches didn’t let anyone stay there.” Adam said thoughtfully. Adam had enquired about renting a cottage at the very edge of the Lynch’s property when his parent had first left the island, but all he had received was a very stern letter telling him that ‘other properties are more suited’. There hadn’t even been a name at the bottom of the letter. Why were the Lynch brothers coming up so much today? Adam hadn’t talked so much about them ever since their parents had died. Why were they suddenly coming back into the public eye now?


End file.
